Im working on making this into a COMPLETE story,

but its all in pen and ink right now, soo im not sure what will become of this journal

Guns are different in suburbia then in most places. First and foremost, no one follows the golden rule here ever, which is Dont pull a peice unless you are going to use it.

But thats the whole thing, people in suburbia are so facinated by violence, "street life" and the lot that people will buy guns just to show em off. No one pulls the trigger in my county. That mondo has gotten me out of a bunch of tight spots, but its fucking true. Even the indie art crowd, people so digusted with the gangster life facination that it becomes a subconcious version of racism, but still even then they are facinated by it. Because the gangster/thug/street life is everything that suburbia is not. Every kid in this fucking town could go to college and really make a financial success of themselves, because even if your parents dont have the money, someone around here has a heart thats bleeding enough dollars to pay for your ass. So our lives our safe, certain, and dull. So if your black or some white kids, you wanna be a thug, if your white its the rock and roll life style, visiting your shitty garage bands, talking about what your gonna say when they make it big. And by make it big i mean get to open for a band that acually is on a label at some two-bit all ages show the next city over.

but getting back on track...

In the circles of gossip, guns are always a common subject, who has one, who flashed one, who MIGHT acually be crazy enough to pull the trigger. And i promise you the ones acually crazy enough to pull the trigger are the kids no one is going to expect because they are too busy being alienated from those social groups of lies, drugs and guns, thinking that if they could just be cool that they would be happy. Again i digress. But the story everyone has is the time they got a gun pulled on them, or their friend who they were standing by, or were in the car, or whatever, like ive said before, everyones got a story. Well, as much as i diestest this facination, i have to tell my story just like everyone else.

First off, i have a gun, no one has ever seen it except me and the guy i bought it from, and no one ever will except me and the guy im shooting at, god forbid that day ever come.

Ive had a multitude of "guns pulled on me", honestly 9 times out of 10 when someone says that, it just means that someone flashed a gun at em, or showed them they were packing. And after the first time, i learned to keep my cool, and give the weilder some lip. Most of the time, when someone pulls his peice, hes looking to get an ego rush, a power rush, if you have the balls to stand there on the recieving side of that barrel and give him shit still, it can totally crush a guy, or piss him off enough to pull the trigger, but no one pulls the trigger in this county.

That doesnt mean i almost didnt shit myself the first time i saw one. I come from a family of hunters, ive owned a gun since i was 3 and so im very familar with how they work, being around them and operating them safely. I was very comfortable when i bought my first one for myself from a meth dealer who claims its unregistered, but somehow i doubt it. But still no matter how much you know about the situation, the first time someone swings the barrel in your direction its fucking scary, of course not as scary as when your backs turned and you the click of the hammer right before the explosion. Ive fired several hundred rounds and never heard that click before till i knew it was being fired at me. I swear it was an hour between when i heard that click and the subsequent boom, even though i knew it was nearly instantaneous.

I just wish all these like 14 yr old boys, who dress like their favorite rapper, and always talk about picking a fight or fights with "their boys there to back them up." Could have been standing next to me when you hear those gunshots you know meant for you. It definitly takes the facination with the whole lifestyle away.

...for a little bit at least.

Its 12 o'clock at night when i get the call, Im already in bed, but not asleep, at least not asleep far enough that i dont hear my phone ring. It's my friend who have been taking most of my pecuilar journeys into the drug world with, the guy who first gave me cocaine, (writting this, after writing that word, i stopped and stared at it for a good 15 minutes) he had procured some AMT, and assured me, matchign what i had read online, that you can trip for 12-24 hours taking it. Now, id like to point it was a thursday, i had school the next day and it was already 12 at night and i was pretty exhausted from the day.

But hey, at this point i was still fucking invincible, and it was a new drug.

He picks me up and we drive over to a park, we call a friend who lives nearby to come join us as that he was rolling that night. He can't get out but manages to trade some of the AMT for a roll, me and the other guy split it and dose up with the AMT..a high dose.. but i didnt know what that meant at that point.

We are in the park and i vomit up the amt, the half roll still visible. EAT IT i hear, and i dig through my vomit for the roll and eat it again, only to throw it up again, this time i leave it lying on the sidewalk.

We go to a park bench, i feel a buzz, mostly alot of energy but no real tripping yet. My friend is rolling, hard, he insuflated his and hadnt rolled in a year or so. Hes talkative, rambling on about something inanne, how he needed a last good roll, that kind of crap you only hear from someone with MDMA melting their brain. And then the trip kicked in

Im fucking stoned, energized and stoned, the wood chips on the playground look like one giant mat, i reach down to feel them and they feel like a giant soft mat. Theres a ditch behind me but it looks like a valley, i want to explore but my friend stops me. I keep checking my phone, i cant read the time, but i wish i could, so i keep checking it. My friend gets paranoid and demands i leave the phone in my pocket.

Then he gets a call, Someone needs him to buy whip its, being that he just turned 18, we get picked up by a Durango full of spun teenagers, all talking loud, beligerantly and scaring the hell out of me. We get to the porn shop to buy the whip its and shuans terrified, doesnt want to go inside, im gone and dont blame him, but find it hilarious when he goes to the front of the store, only to come back and ask "which side is the door on again?"

I get dropped off at home after some more adventures in the durango from hell. And drive to school the next day. All day i was FUCKED, but it didnt get bad till science when we were doing an experiment, i tell my partners how useless i am as i am going into minor convusions, they cover for me

as i get home im weak, but still awake and i stay that way all night and though im off the dope, again on friday night, i hadnt eaten, slept, i felt sick. So of course the brilliant idea to roll on saturday night was what i needed. After an hour of a so-so roll, i hit the floor, full on convulsions.

all I hear are people around me saying "Hes just coming down, hes just coming down"
Fucking rolling kids are useless.

Hopefully, you will never have a moment like this, but its a strange thing to lie awake at night and think, "Is this massive organ failure? or am i just coming down."

Ive been playing this game for a couple years now and still no andswers have come to me, still no pleasures have come to me. I thought, i could just have all the coke i wanted, if i could just have all the women i wanted, if i could just have all the things that i am supposed to desire i could be happy. And here i am, its 4 a.m. and this is another half assed suicide attempt thats doomed to fail, but if it should succeed will luckily be shoved off as an O.D. and not a sucide, making me seem slightly less selfish at my funeral.

I look at the digital clock four times and still the numbers haven't changed and quietly think to myself over the heavy breathing of my brother sleeping peacefully beneath me, i wonder if i have come unstuck in time.

Its funny how when the andswers should be horribly obvious, you never see them. I knew what i should have done, i knew what i had to do, but i liked the power, i loved the lies, i was deeper in love with the drug lifestyle than i was with myself. Sure i could make all the claims that i was just self medicating a slowly building organic mental disorder, and for all i know i was, but that doesnt escape the hardest thing about quitting. That is leaving the lifestyle behind, leaving all the adventure and thrills, the anticipation and fear, all the endorphines, you get addicted. And for many years after i would get off the drug itself, i would still feel the pull of the lifestyle and it would build a great bitterness inside me. I'd look around and think all these people are doing exactly what im doing and yet seem so much more happy and comfortable, dont seem to feel those crashing lows and the teetering highs, just seem to be having so much more fun that im having. And after your mind has deteriorated a signifigant amount, the andswer becomes to just continue, and eventually you will find that level. What i fail to realize, is thats how it all starts, only later do you just become dead, dead inside and out, a zombie moving only for another fix to take him away from the ultimate truth, that you are unhappy, that you are going nowhere, that this is going end, you are going to come down.

For the first time, as i feel a sharp pain in my intestines somewhere, i dont feel invincible, i feel like im going to die, and i pray to whatever god i might believe in, to grant me the strength to make it through the night.

I know its synthetic, but i still feel like its real, like if i can just never forget this memory I can continue through life with this zen like understanding.

My first roll, no one ever forgets their first roll, its synthetic but its the most magical feeling, of just, love, pure synthetic love.

Im sitting here in English, plucking the hairs from my arm and it feels like love, my skin turns a little red from forcibly removing the the hairs, but yet i like the tone of red on my arm, perhaps i should draw a little red on my arm each day so it will always look just like this, this moment is perfect, and i never ever want it to go away.

From every corrupt businessman to every child molesting preist, i love them all because i understand them all.

The worst thing is, now, i know i will never feel that again, not after the other 100 or so pills i took, nothing will ever give me that same insight and understanding again. HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY.